Undisclosed Desires
by KeeperoftheNine
Summary: A slightly fluffy piece about the relationship between Steve the Wraith and a young historian whilst he was imprisoned on Atlantis.  Rated M for future adult content.
1. 1 The Historian

**Personal Disclaimer: This was actually one of the very first Steve fics I wrote, and after much re-writing here it is. _Undisclosed Desires_ is designed to be a short prequel to _Riddles in the Dark_, a story I have been thinking up for a while now. To those at GW who I have been promising smut, it will come, but the first two chapters of _Undisclosed_ are scene setters. Though my OFC Marie Cromwell is a historian with a penchant for coffee, the similarities between she and I end here. I did consider making her something else: an archaeologist, a scientist, a marine... but it never seemed to work for me. _Undisclosed_ is my take on one of the many things Steve got up to during his many weeks in captivity... rated M for future smut... also, the first two chapters are very dialogue heavy. I apologise for this. P.S. Reviews of both the critical and praising type are very welcome. Lastly, I have no beta... so all spelling and grammatical errors are entirely my fault.**

**Official disclaimer: I do not own Atlantis, the team, the Wraith or any other aspect of this delightful franchise. I am merely borrowing them for my devious means. As for Steve, if I owned him I wouldn't need to write fanfiction :D**

**1. The Historian**

Dr. Elizabeth Weir observed the white-haired historian perched on the chair before her. She knew from experience that his friendly shell encased a deep wealth of knowledge, knowledge that he generously shared with anyone who inquired. The last place Elizabeth had conversed with Professor Hamish Lawson had been his homely, book-lined office. Now, encased within the sharp lines and steel surfaces of Stargate Command, he seemed almost shaken with awkwardness.

Elizabeth frowned as she leafed through the personal file before her, "she is very young, very inexperienced."

Professor Lawson nodded, nervously biting his nails, "surely everyone going on this expedition is inexperienced in some way?"

Elizabeth responded with a humoured nod, "You are right. None of us know what to expect. However..." She trailed off, leaving the board open to Professor Lawson. He pounced on the opportunity.

"I admit; I have higher graded students and ones with more life experience. I understand your trepidation at accepting someone so young, but I feel she is the best suited to the kinds of pressures that you will face on this expedition."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed quizzically, "how so?"

"She is efficient and reliable. She also has certain quirks..."

"Ah." Elizabeth now smiled, "quirks seem to be a prerequisite for this expedition. However, it does not alter the fact that you are suggesting I put a twenty-five year old PhD graduate in charge of the entire historical team."

"Trust me, Dr. Weir. Marie Cromwell is the best person for the job."

ooo

Marie Cromwell was well aware she appeared a gaping idiot: her eyes were wide as dinner-plates; her mouth hanging open in an unflattering "O". In the utter disbelief that rocked her, she forgot all the niggling worries that usually accompanied new endeavours. No longer could her mind wrestle with the constant questions of: did I forget this? Did I leave the heater on? Did I forget to say goodbye to...?" It took an astounding sight to render the young historian both voiceless and thoughtless. A controlled wormhole to another galaxy was one of these sights.

"Oh, so you're the infant they have running the archaeological department?" The sneering voice belonged to a stocky man, clad in the blues of the science team. A surly expression tainted his otherwise pleasing features, "hardly surprising. It is a bit of a redundant department."

Marie felt a stab of anger, but ignored it. She knew exactly who this man was.

"Marie Cromwell," she snapped, extending her hand for him to shake, "I assume that you are Rodney McKay?"

"Dr. McKay if you don't mind," the man replied stiffly, "I did not study my way through several PhDs merely to be called _Mister McKay._"

Marie, despite her momentary surge of anger, did not hold it against the scientist. He was a genius, or so she was told. Her experience in academia had taught her that individuals of high intellect often worked on a different plain. Although she had a PhD herself, Marie did not exactly feel that she dwelt on this plain. A stab of self-doubt coursed through her. Why exactly _had_ she been chosen for this mission? Of all the students, academics and hobby historians on the planet – why were they sending _her_ on this expedition?"

Of course, such questions were redundant. The opportunity of a lifetime had been presented to her on a silver platter, garnished with a lofty income and the prospect of exploring an entirely different galaxy. She intended to consume this opportunity with utter gusto.

_Several Months Later – Atlantis_

Marie Cromwell was sweating.

Elizabeth observed the young historian enter her office, bottle of water clutched in her fingers. She was clad in grey slacks and an oversized t-shirt. Her raven black curls were poised in a messy bun high on her head.

"Sorry about interrupting, Marie."

The young woman smiled, "a welcome interruption, Dr. Weir. I have discovered that I am not much of a runner."

"Teyla informs me that you are doing well in self-defence."

The smile curled into a smirk, "Teyla is being generous."

"Teyla is not the type to exaggerate. She is genuinely impressed with you, as am I."

"Thank you Dr. Weir – Elizabeth," corrected Marie, evidently recollecting the countless times Elizabeth had insisted she address her by her first name.

"Please Marie, sit down. I need to talk to you."

Marie sat, eyes eager, "about my request?"

"You understand that allowing you to talk to our prisoner is particularly problematic. It is very unlikely he will be co-operative."

"I understand that. I just want to see him." Marie frowned slightly, "put everything in perspective."

Elizabeth sipped her tea, eyes boring into the historian's pale grey ones, "from what I have read of your work so far, you concentrate heavily on the Wraith."

"Their impact on this galaxy fascinates me. You cannot learn about any culture here, not even this city, without encountering the problem of the Wraith." The historian bit her lip, "the only this is, I'm looking at it all from an outsider perspective. I am getting first-hand accounts from the peoples we have encountered, I am observing how the Wraith culling has stunted cultural development first hand, but I have never actually seen a Wraith."

"You have incorporated pictures in your report."

"Pictures aren't the same as flesh and blood."

Elizabeth sighed. This woman was almost as persistent as Rodney. "You did your PhD on Vikings in ninth-century France. Evidently you did not need to observe an actual Viking for _that_?"

"If there had been a ninth-century Viking in the brig, I would have asked exactly the same thing." The historian turned her piercing eyes away, fidgeting awkwardly with the water bottle. "The prisoner is behind a force field. He is constantly guarded and as you have said, he probably won't say anything to me."

Elizabeth sighed deeply, "I will discuss this with Major Sheppard, but I cannot promise anything Marie. I really don't know how useful the prisoner will be to you."

ooo

Major John Sheppard was a man who could lace even the direst situations with humour. The city loomed under the threat of invasion, its band of human inhabitants vulnerable to any space-bound attack, yet he always managed to keep things positive. It was for this reason that Marie found herself growing rather fond of him.

"Steve's not exactly the talkative type," he warned as they shifted down the corridor toward the brig. Marie clasped a notebook in hand. "He's probably just going to talk about how much he wants to eat you, if he says anything at all."

"I'm happy just to be seeing him."

John chuckled, "he's an ugly life-sucking alien... not much to see really."

"An ugly life-sucking alien that has detrimentally altered the historical dynamic of this entire galaxy," Marie reminded him, "I personally think that even the sight of him will be fascinating."

John shot her a quizzical glance, "when I was your age I was partying hard and seducing girls in the back of my car, not yearning to see murderous aliens. Has anyone ever told you that you're odd?"

The historian grinned at him, "not a day goes by when I am not reminded of the fact."

Steve was pacing his cell when they arrived.

As his gold-toned reptilian eyes fell upon her, Marie felt herself shrinking behind John. She had studied pictures of the Wraith, even watched footage of this very prisoner, but in the person he was something else entirely. John had called him ugly, but Marie found him to be quite striking. His demeanour was predatory, proud and in every way stubborn. Her eyes were drawn to his waterfall of ivory hair, which splashed against the stark black leather of his jacket. She momentarily wondered what it would be like to touch that hair, whether it would be soft or coarse. Of course, this thought was short lived.

"I've brought someone to meet you, Steve."

The Wraith pulled back his lips in a wide grin, his pointed teeth glistening in the teal halo of the cell, "Sustenance?"

John frowned, "be nice." He urged the Marie to step forward. She ventured as far as she dared, her eyes not leaving those of the prisoner.

"This female is weak." His multi-toned voice rung with threat, but the historian did not break his gaze. "She would hardly make a decent meal."

"I thought I told you to be nice, Steve," John warned, "Steve, this is Dr. Cromwell, head of our history department."

"She is a child."

Marie scowled, causing the prisoner to chuckle menacingly.

"A silent child," the Wraith started to move again, breaking eye contact. "You are here to ask questions, yet ask none. Do you fear me?"

"Yes."

"Ah, and so the child speaks," Steve stopped, grinning at her once more.

"I am not a child."

"So ask me your questions, Marie." The way the Wraith hissed her name sent shivers down her spine, though not in the way she expected.

"Will you answer them?"

"That depends on the nature of the questions you ask."

The historian tilted her head in contemplation, "what if I were to ask if you were aware of the historical implications your race has had on the human population of the Pegasus galaxy?"

"I would reply that it is of very little concern to me."

"What if I were to ask about your own history? Your peoples origins, your technological advancements?"

The Wraith came dangerously close to the gratings of the cell now, and Marie was ever glad of the force field. She did not withdraw, desperate not to reveal further her inner weakness, the weakness he had already perceived.

"If asked in a historical manner, I may consider," the Wraith hissed, "but not today."

John cocked an eyebrow, "I don't really think it's up to you, Steve."

Steve ignored him, his eyes still plastered on the historian. The leather of his sleek black outfit groaned as he stretched his lithe form, beginning yet another slow lap of the cell. "What exactly brings a child like you to a place like this?"

Her features creased with disbelief, "you're the one behind bars, Steve. My history is of little consequence."

The prisoner sneered, expelling a long breath. The air was so still now that only the gentle hiss of his coat lapels against the floor could be heard. "An exchange of information is only fair."

"I kind of have the upper hand here."

"You tell me something about yourself, and I will tell you something in return. It may even be something useful depending on whether or not Major Sheppard accompanies you." The Wraith sent a vicious glance toward his captor.

Marie's body shifted into a defensive posture, "you're trying to compromise me."

"And I will succeed," Steve uttered in barely a whisper, "as I previously stated: you are weak."

Marie shifted from his gaze, "John take me away from here."

"You will return Marie," Steve purred from the cell, "you cannot resist the temptation of knowing what I can give you."

John rolled his eyes, "Now you're just creeping her out, Steve."

"It's a bit late for that," came the furious voice of Marie from the hall. Steve could only laugh...


	2. 2 The Dream

**Another dialogue heavy scene-setting chapter. There is a certain amount of tackiness to this chapter, but I love tacky, and so opted to keep it in. Please feel free to review.**

**Disclaimer: same as last time... only this time I will mention that I own Marie (poor woman)**

**2. The Dream**

One week later, Marie Cromwell found herself pacing outside the brig, pen twirling between her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she conjured enough courage to run her palm over the door panel. The prisoner refused to turn at her entrance.

"Dr. Cromwell, you _have_ returned."

She was confused, an expression easy to decipher on her face. Steve spun round, his cascade of ivory hair dancing about his pale features.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I smelt you."

Her eyebrow rose, "thanks Steve. Not only am I weak, but I also smell."

The Wraith's trademark, albeit terrifying, grin returned, "I did not say you smelt bad. Quite the contrary, you smell intoxicating."

"Note to one's self, never wear this perfume in the presence of Wraith." Marie's mumble was slightly louder than she anticipated. Steve, of course, heard it.

"It is not just your perfume." He crossed the cell in a flash of opposing black and white, standing before her. "I can smell your skin, your hair, the blood flowing through your veins."

"Bull. You're behind a force field. You shouldn't be able to smell anything but the resonant fact that you haven't bathed in months."

The Wraith's smile dropped, "you are acting bravely today, Dr. Cromwell, but I know you are still as terrified of me as you were last time we met."

"Considering your desire to suck the life from my body, caution comes with the territory." The guards had placed a chair close to the cage, and Marie opted to take a seat. "Today you are going to answer my questions, Steve."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because if you do not, I will cease to visit you, and you will be deprived of my _intoxicating _scent." She was being sardonic, but the Wraith actually appeared to take the threat seriously. He knelt before her chair, eyes peering through the bars.

"Ask away."

ooo

John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Teyla and Dr. Carson Beckett observed the live action feed with adept interest, coffee cups at variable levels of the emptiness clutched in their hands.

"Why is this on mute?" Teyla's question was valid, yet it caused John to cough awkwardly, sipping his coffee in a futile attempt to avoid answering.

"Apparently Steve likes Marie's smell," he responded after a moments silence, "and he has been telling her all about it throughout the interview. It's awkward."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, "but she has not been compromised?"

"Doesn't seem like it. Steve apparently likes talking to her, though, so we've been getting _some_ information out of him."

"Finally," huffed Rodney, "what sort of information?"

"Just generally that the Wraith are a boring bunch that don't do anything except prepare for the next cull. They like science and technology, but as for culture..."

Teyla sniffed, "the Wraith _have_ no culture."

Elizabeth frowned, "and Marie? Is she keeping up her end of the bargain?"

"Well, Steve now knows everything about Vikings, eighties pop, how many calories are in a banana and how to make a cappuccino."

Rodney snorted, "Oh, I bet he loved that."

"So she's not telling him about anything important?" Elizabeth smiled, "good."

"He doesn't seem to mind. Actually seems quite interested."

Teyla now looked concerned, "I cannot help but feel that the Wraith is playing with her. No good can come out of this situation."

ooo

"You are tired. The foul smelling liquid does not seem to be working."

Marie sipped her coffee defensively, "your sense of smell is evidently flawed. Coffee has the most delicious smell in the universe."

The Wraith sniffed, "a peculiar comment."

"Blame the coffee."

She got a simple grin in response. The Wraith stretched his long legs, curling them back into the crossed position. "The other humans have stopped listening."

"How do you know?"

"I know." Steve flicked a lock of silken hair from his eyes, "I wish to show you something."

Despite herself, Marie smirked. "Sounds ominous."

"Not _that_... though I assure you it would impress."

A trickle of laughter escaped her lips, "you are very strange, Steve, even for a Wraith."

"Ah, because you know so much about the Wraith."

Marie ignored him, "So what is it that you wish to show me?"

"My race is what you would call telepathic. I do not believe my telepathic range is limited only to those of my kind. I think-"

"You think you can speak to me telepathically? What would be the point?"

The Wraith bared his sharp, translucent teeth, "there are things I want to tell you that _they_ cannot hear."

"Sorry if I am not too keen to have you prodding around in my head."

"Then I will tell you nothing else tonight."

The historian yawned, "this has been very informative."

Silence reigned for a matter of minutes. Nothing could be heard but the gently hum of the force-field. Shifting his gaze from her, the Wraith hissed, "I still wish to speak with you in private."

"Once again, you seem to be under the impression that you have power here, Steve. If I do not want you poking around in my head, you will not."

"You are intrigued."

"Goodnight Steve."

ooo

That evening Marie lay in bed, eyes drifting shut, ears tuned to the gentle hum of waves rumbling against the base of Atlantis.

"I knew I would find you here."

Marie's mouth immediately warped into a scream, but any sound was muted as a pale hand clamped over her lips."

"There's no point in screaming, Marie," Steve's soft voice caressed her, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine, "you are dreaming. They will not hear you." As soon as his hand left her mouth, she darted from the bed, placing as much distance between her and the Wraith as possible.

"I thought I told you _not_ to do this," she snarled, grey eyes furious. The Wraith simply laughed a gorgeous cacophony of musical notes.

"And you thought I would listen?" His striking teeth glistened in the pale moonlight that spilled through the blinds, "You evidently underestimated the temptation you provide. As I said before, you are intoxicating."

"You want to eat me?"

The Wraith laughed again, "I cannot feed upon you in this dream. But even if I were here in life, it is not feeding that draws me to you. Your kind is rare, Marie Cromwell."

"My kind?"

The Wraith paced toward the window, opening it to allow a small rush of breeze, which scooped his tendrils of snowy hair, sending them flickering around his alien features.

"My kind is born of a queen," he began, "few of us are chosen to mate with her, yet our similarities with your species mean we are still endowed with our sexuality." This last statement caused the Wraith to smirk, "few of us feel sexual desire, but every so often a human female comes along who has the power to awaken it within us."

"Right-o, what has this to do with me."

"I believe you are one of these women."

"Me?" Marie snorted, despite the fact there was a man-eating alien being invading her subconscious, "I'm hardly the kind to drive men into fits of desire."

"I am talking about chemistry. Though, through our discussion, I have discovered you to be quite... Wraith-like."

"Ouch."

"You are insulted?"

"How observant of you, Steve."

"By what?"

"First, you invade my mind simply to tell me that I am like Viagra for the Wraith, then you compare me to a race of people who eat humans for lunch."

The Wraith swooped toward her, cupping her pale cheek in his hand, "you are also stubborn. I find that extremely... arousing."

Marie's breath caught in her throat, her heart thrumming irregularly. His proximity was exciting and terrifying. His scent filled her nostrils, a delicious mixture of sandalwood and something alien. His lips drew achingly close to hers, and despite every cell of her body warning her against it, she wanted him to bridge the gap.

"This is not one way, Marie. You were destined to come to this galaxy. Just as I will never be content until I have had you, you will never be content until you have had me."

"May I be blunt, Steve?" Marie sneered, managing to scrounge enough self-control to push him away, "you're full of crap. What do you know of my _destiny_." She spat the final word like poison, every syllable offensive to her reasonable mind.

"More than you, evidently. Whatever you believe, Marie, it does not alter the fact that every time you walk into the jail cell my pants become painfully tight."


	3. 3 Until Tomorrow

**A bit of a shorty, I know. Just a snippet of fun before I hit up the hard core smut. Hopefully that will be in the next thirty-six hours, Honours Thesis providing :S**

**Thanks to those who read, reviewed and subscribed. I am ever grateful for your feedback and helpful suggestions. :D **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Atlantis, the Lanteans, Steve or Neil Young's lyrics. I'm sure my Neil Young loving mother would be horrified that I even referenced his music in Wraith fanfiction. **

_I am just a dreamer, but you are just a dream._

There really was no better way to dredge oneself from a Wraith-ridden sleep than with a loud blaring of Neil Young. Ever since her childhood, the historian had associated the Canadian's music with long car trips and all the motion sickness that accompanied them. Her arm shot up from the cosy cocoon of her bed, fingers groping for the snooze button.

_You are just a dream_. Even in the temporary silence of her quarters, Marie could not help but wonder if this was the case. Since Steve had first invaded her mind the week before, he came nightly. On the second night she dreamed that he slipped into her bed, his lips welcoming her into the peculiar land of her subconscious. The kiss had been an assault of intensity: the soft brush of his lips in contrast to the dangerous points of his sharp teeth, the forceful dominance of his tongue as it swooped into her far-too-willing mouth.

Every night he took it one step further. The third night he had appeared naked, his body hard and aroused against hers. Sanity dictated that she should have been disgusted, but insanity was the victor. She yearned to run her fingers down the soft surface of his chest, further, further down... but before her fingers could find their mark, he had pulled away. Another night his fingers had explored the contours of her body, a mixture of soft fingertip and sharp nail against her highly aroused skin.

Every night he brought her to the brink, only to pull away at the last minute. The following morning he would always be there, in his cell, a cruel smirk painted across his lips.

She tried to mask her anxieties, but as the days fluttered by, those closest to her began to pick up on her lack of attention.

"You look terrible," Teyla had observed during their weekly sparring match. Marie merely nodded, barely flinching as the feisty Athosian rendered a blow to her shoulder. She remained vague as the Athosian inspected the damage. "You have been like this since first coming into contact with the Wraith prisoner. Has he -?"

"-he hasn't done anything to me," Marie lied. "I'm just tired."

"I do not think you should continue your work with him."

Marie had considered taking Teyla's advice into consideration, but every morning found her feet treading the familiar path toward the brig. The guards usually greeted her with coffee and toast, a small chair perched by the bars for her comfort.

This morning was no different. Lieutenant Ford shot her his usual smile, a mug of strong espresso waiting invitingly in his hands.

"He's not very talkative today, Doctor."

She allowed her lips to form a friendly smile. "Is he ever?"

The prisoner stopped pacing, yellow eyes trained on her through the bars. "Hello again, Dr. Cromwell." _Did you enjoy last night?_

"Morning, Steve," was her lulled verbal response, overcast eyes flashing with anger. _Of course I didn't! You're driving me fucking insane, Steve._

The Wraith prisoner started to pace his cell again, the gentle clap of a footfalls blending with the groan of leather. _Soon we will be together in life, Worshipper. And I promise, then I will not..._

_Pull away at the last minute? _

_Indeed._

She took a vicious bite of the spicy fruit toast provided. Ford and the other guards milled about nervously, confused as to why the conversation had not diverged past simple greetings.

"What do you wish to ask me today?" Steve inquired. His gaze touched her again, unnerving and sensual, predatory in more ways than one.

"How many ships you have? What we can expect from them? You know, the usual..."

"Ah, Major Sheppard has you asking these pointless questions again. You can inform him that I have no intention of answering them, unless..."

"Yep, we're not going to feed you, Steve. Stop trying," she replied in a bored tone. He gently probed her mind again.

_I have a plan, Marie_.

_A plan? And what plan would that be?_

_ I cannot tell you that. All I can say is that tomorrow morning you and I will be together, physically, in this cell._

Her eyebrow rose, the dark slash almost in danger of being lost in her wild shock of obsidian curls. _If you are capable of pulling off this plan, why the hell don't you use these powers to escape_?

The Wraith shrugged. It was a truly elegant gesture, and caused the breath in Marie's throat to catch.

_Escape is impossible. I would be killed before I could leave the city. Providing an opportunity for you and I to consummate our lust is another matter_.

_And you're going to manage this amazing feat by tomorrow morning?_

Steve's eyes glimmered. _Of course. However until then..._ His hands slowly moved toward his groin, a movement which Marie watched with apt interest, a sprinkling of disgust and a dash of amusement.

"What are you doi-?"

Her question was abruptly cut short as the most peculiar sensation rocked her body. All of a sudden it was her hand, not his, venturing toward his groin. She could not control the movement, but every sensation he felt, she felt. Through his golden eyes she could see her own face peering on with confusion and shock.

_ What are you doing Steve?"_

_ Take a guess._ Their hand now slipped beneath the slimline belt of his pants, venturing further until long, green fingers brushed against his arousal. In the flesh he was huge, there was no eloquent way she could describe it.

"Hey man! Get your hand the hell out of there!"

In a flash, Marie was back in her own body, the agitated voice of Ford snapping the two from their peculiar embrace. Steve smirked, his hand withdrawing.

"Until tomorrow, Marie Cromwell." _I suggest you bring restraints_.

Marie drew herself up, bemused smirk in place. _What? Should I bring cream and body chocolate as well?_

_If you so desire..._


	4. 4 Stolen Moments

**Well, here it is. Part one of the smut. At the end of this, you will probably be asking some questions - worry not, they will be explained in Chapter 5 (which WILL be called Shall I Remove these Shackles, for those who know me on facebook). Basically, I wanted to get down and dirty. I also hope that I've shown a slightly different side to Steve. Meh. Read, review, discard, dislike, whatever you please!**

**P.S Thanks to those who reviewed, and double thanks to Isolde for nudging me to write and for your helpful hints :D**

Stolen Moments

His plan was a particularly convoluted one.

The longer the prisoner remained incarcerated; rotting away in the lifeless Lantean cell, the less confident he was that he could actually pull it off. The plan depended entirely upon the mental connection he had forged with the weakest of his guards: marine Scot Matherson. Matherson's mental barriers had been thinner than the webs icing the walls of a hive ship. The moment he had tripped into the brig, his brain broadcasted every anxiety, every fear and every memory. Steve immediately utilised this feebleness, weaving his own set of influences into the young marine's mind. At first he had considered Matherson his conduit to escape, but these ambitions were dashed when he discovered (in Matherson's mind) the small squadron of guards that patrolled the corridor outside his cell.

He wanted to escape, but he was not suicidal.

The moment Marie had stepped into the brig, her eyes glazed with fear, Steve had started orchestrating his alternative plan. This plan consumed him, drawing his mind from the anxieties of capture, the dull pain of hunger than wracked his body. Every now and again he had toyed with the idea of luring her in merely to suck every iota of life from her waif-like body. This thought was always wiped away. She needed to be preserved. She had better uses, and almost all of these uses included her being naked and willing.

And so it came to this day.

oOoOo

Marie seriously considered not going to the brig that morning. Should Steve successfully provide a situation in which they could _consummate their lust_, she knew it could not only be detrimental to her career, but also to her life. She knew she should feel guilty for having such licentious thoughts about the alien prisoner. Her research had brought her into contact with many cultures decimated by the Wraith and their brutal feeding patterns. Though his dangerousness attracted her, there was also something about Steve that seemed so dejected. His outward persona was one of confidence, but the more time she spent with him she perceived his anxieties, his fear and most of all his utter hopelessness. It was for this reason that she made her way to the brig.

_I have been waiting_.

His voice was a calming draught in her mind. The usual assortment of guards milled around. Her breakfast was waiting for her, as it always was. _I am not late, Steve_.

_I thought..._

_Do not assume, Steve. You are the one behind bars, not me._

A smile crossed his sensual lips. _Your defiance is false, you know this as well as I. Why else would you have packed the restraints?_

_Because whatever you have planned, it no doubt has something to do with us being alone and together in a room. You're lovely, Steve, but your hand is a little on the creepy side._

_You will not say that when I show you what it is capable of_.

Marie rolled her eyes, but smiled none-the-less. She uttered her usual greetings to the guards. Ford raised an eyebrow. "I think you like spending time with this, _thing_, a little too much."

"Liking has nothing to do with it Aiden. It's all for work."

_Get them to leave_. There was something akin to desperation in Steve's mental probe now. Marie bit her lip.

_How_?

The Wraith sneered at her through the bars. "Back again?"

"As always, Steve." _Where are you going with this_?

"I may tell you something useful today, if you are lucky. However-"

_You've got to be kidding me? You really believe they'll buy that_?

"-I only wish to speak with you. Your _friends_," his long, sharp nailed hand gestured to the guards, "will have to leave."

"Not a chance," Ford snapped.

Marie frowned. "Is there any chance of him escaping the cell?"

The Lieutenant shifted awkwardly, "well... _no_. But-"

"Major Sheppard wants me to get information out of him. If this is the only way I can do so, why don't we try it?"

"Major Sheppard tries this every day," Ford replied his voice still laced with doubt. "The Wraith never gives up."

"Woman's touch," Marie shrugged, trying to give him an innocent smile.

Ford appeared to be thinking about this, his handsome face creased with anxiety. "Five minutes, that's all. If anything dodgy goes on, call out, we'll be straight in." The Lieutenant fished a small handgun from its holster at his side. "In case anything happens. You know how to use one of these, right?"

"Of course," Marie lied.

The guards slipped from the room, Ford shooting Steve a cautionary glance before the door fell shut. The Wraith turned his gaze from the door, a smile curling his lips as he locked her in his predatory gaze. "At last we are alone, Marie Cromwell."

And then the lights went out...

oOoOo

"Steve, what the hell?"

The young historian stumbled in the dark, sending the small table with her breakfast flying. She swore loudly, glad that she had the initiative to wolf down a banana in the mess hall before arriving. It was only when she felt long fingers grasp her shoulder that she stopped her mindless fumbling.

"How'd you get out of the cell?"

His lips brushed her ear. "The force field is no longer functioning. I merely stuck my hand through the bar and typed in the code." With kind force, he turned her, pushing her against the nearest wall. With the failure of her eyesight, her other senses came into play. In person, his addictive alien scent of spices and leather was stronger. There was a slightly floral tint to his hair, which to touch was like silk. His lips crashed upon hers, sucking the breath from her lungs. Her own lips melted, her tongue tentatively running across his dangerous boundary of sharp teeth.

"How did you get the code?" she murmured, as his soft lips ran across her jaw, teeth grazing the soft flesh of her neck.

"Matherson."

"Scot _told _you?"

Her lover hissed. "Not exactly. Must you insist on talking?"

_Sorry_.

A low animalistic growl was the only response she received. His lips returned to hers, as though attempting to hinder any further attempts to talk. Of this she had no intention, her own fingers stripping his long coat from his shoulders. The rest of their clothes followed in a rip of passion, pants disregarded in puddles on the floor, underwear torn to shreds by relentless fingernails. She could not help but run explorative fingers down the line of ridges that defined his spine, ridges that seemed so natural to her despite their alien origin.

His body was deliciously hard against hers, his arousal pressing into her lower stomach. When she reached for it this time, the Wraith did not draw away. Sharp teeth dug into her shoulder, as her fingers playfully caressed the head of his erection, intrigued by its ridged, alien definition.

The Wraith pushed his prey harder against the wall, dismissing her hands, the head of his impressive specimen poised at the entrance to her core. Inch by inch he submerged himself within her welcoming depths. Though slow at first, his thrusts became harder, faster, animalistic. Steve buried himself in her hair, yearning to be as close to this delicious human as he could. Her scent overwhelmed him, driving him to thrust harder, faster, more hungrily than before. Though their eyes were glazed by darkness, he did not need vision to imagine the soft ruby lips from which the pitiful moans of pleasure were escaping. In his mind he could see the pink, soft flesh of thigh that straddled him as she drew a leg around his waist.

She came before him, dull teeth piercing the flesh below his collar bone. When his lips found hers again, he could taste the metallic taint of his own blood. As climax rocked his body, his arms tightened around her body, as though savouring every last remnant of physical contact he would ever feel.

oOoOo

Steve leaned naked against the cool metal of his cage, eyes unable to follow her movements in the stifling darkness. "You are wasting our time, Worshipper."

"Perhaps if you helped..."

"I would, if I knew what you were looking for."

"First Aid Kit, there has to be one around here."

A low chuckle escaped his lips. "Surely I did not harm you _that_ much."

"All First Aid Kits have candles, Steve. If we're going to make the most of our time, I want to _see_ you." More rustled ensued, before the waif-like historian uttered, "yes, found it!"

As the first candle was lit, it became apparent that the Wraith and his worshipper had made more mess than they anticipated. Not only was her breakfast soggy and cold on the floor, but scraps of clothing had managed to become lodged in the strangest of places. Steve hardly noticed this though, as his eyes fell upon the snow white form of the human female.

In their dream embraces, he had never fully appreciated the way her pale flesh contrasted with the obsidian shine of her locks, the piercing storm-cloud grey of her eyes. A small smile curled her lips as she placed several candles around the now opened cell.

"How long do we have?"

Drawing her close, he whispered in her hair. "Long enough for me to do this..."

**Mwa ha ha ha ha! **


	5. 5 Shall I Remove these Shackles?

Yay! Chapter Five is finally up! I apologise for the delay, I moved house a couple of weeks ago and we only just got main internet access last night. Needless to say, I was not particularly inclined to update my smut on a University computer :D It's a bit of a "weak dog" effort, because I have been working hard at my thesis, and rarely get time to write, paint and do the things I love :( Anyway... hope you enjoy, and I assure you, another chapter will be posted within the week. That is my personal goal.

Thanks to all those that reviewed, fav'd and just generally read this fic. Your support and help is always appreciated.

**Shall I Remove These Shackles?**

The Hoffan Chancellor was a portly man, a dusting of white beard adorning his chin, his stout figure tucked into a well-tailored grey-toned suit. A mixture of ambition, hope, anxiety and impatience sparkled in his eye as he handed his two guests a tumbler of blue tinged spirits. The Lanteans looked at it with curiosity, before slowly taking a sip.

"Have you thought any further on my proposal?" he breached, reclining in his seat.

John Sheppard looked mildly uncomfortable, exchanging a sturdy glance with Carson Beckett. "It's not quite as easy as that..."

Beckett frowned. "The Wraith is not giving you any information; I don't see why we can't put it to good use. If this serum _works_..."

"Ethical-" John begun, before the Chancellor interrupted.

"Surely you are not concerned with the ethics of this situation. It is a Wraith. Its people have killed millions of our own. I seriously doubt it would consider the ethics of what it is doing."

"Trust me, I agree with you," John snapped. "But the person we have to convince is Dr. Weir, and I seriously doubt she will agree."

The Chancellor cocked an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you were in charge of the Wraith prisoner."

John's response was cut short as a young, flustered marine burst into the room. His gaze was apologetic, his words quick. "Major Sheppard sir, news from Atlantis. They're having trouble with the prisoner, sir."

"Trouble?" inquired John. "What kind of trouble?"

The marine sent a furtive glance in the direction of the Chancellor. John rose to his feet, placing his half-empty glass delicately on the polished wooden table before him. "'Scuse me Chancellor."

Once the door was shut behind him, the marine spewed an explanation, his words barely distinguishable amidst his heavy breaths. "Ford left the cell for five minutes, the entire system went on lockdown, Doctor Cromwell is stuck in the cell with the prisoner. Doctor McKay is trying to find out what the problem is-"

"But they want me back on Atlantis?" John rubbed his eyes, wishing that he had spent more time sleeping the previous night rather than entertaining a pretty young biologist. He opened the heavy wooden doors. "Sorry Chancellor, slight change of plans, I'm needed back on Atlantis."

The Chancellor shot him a knowing glance. "Your prisoner seems to be causing you nothing but problems. This would be a chance to put it to good use."

John sighed. "I will ask Elizabeth, she can decide what to do with _him_."

ooo

"Shall I remove these shackles?"

The Wraith replied with a low growl, his wrist battling uselessly with the icy ring of metal. The other ring, lengthened by rope, was tightly bound around one of the thick beams that defined the Lantean cell. How exactly this weak human female had managed to tie the rope so tight astounded him, as did the fact she had managed to shackle him in the first place.

"If I say yes, will you comply?"

Her devilish fingertips danced across his chest, down to his groin, tantalisingly brushing across the head of his aching erection, before trailing down his thigh. "Probably not."

Steve growled again, this time longer, deeper and etched with aching fury. "Is this torture really necessary, human?"

"You're the one who told me to bring the restraints."

"I did not expect you to use them on _me_!" his final word was a venomous hiss, soon snatched from his mouth as her lips moulded against his. In the ungainly seated position in which he had been restrained, he could do nothing but groan as she impaled herself upon him. As one arm snaked around her tiny body, the other strained angrily against the shackles. For a Wraith accustomed to taking his pleasures fast and passionate, her slow, languid movements were torturous. The small groans that seeped through her lips only added to the torture...

ooo

His touch was fire.

The brush of his soft hair against the inside of her legs, the rasping of pointed teeth, the caresses of a well trained tongue... it all added to the sensual overload that consumed her. She could hardly breathe as he brought her to the edge time and time again, only to pull away at the last minute, before starting all over again. Now it was him torturing her, denying her of the blissful orgasm that only his gorgeous lips and tongue could provide.

This time it was her wrist, achingly imprisoned. The fingers of her free hand curled in the soft mountain of roughly gathered clothes that constituted their makeshift bed. When he finally let her come, it was loud, his name piercing her lips as every nerve in her body shattered.

His lips began their journey up her sweat-stroked body, nuzzling her neck before crashing upon her own. The warm hardness of his shaft pressed against the inside of her thigh, yearning to mirror the impassioned dance of his tongue in as it explored her mouth. Her legs snaked around his waist as he thrust, painfully slowly, the growl escaping his lips almost as pleasurable as the sensation of his filling her.

"Are these really necessarily?" she groaned against his vicious lips, rattling the handcuffs with such venom as to strain her wrist.

His lips pulled back in a sneer. "You need to learn to take your own medicine, Worshipper."

The handcuffs dug so deeply into her wrists now as to draw blood, but she cared not, riding the waves of bliss until he too came with a long, slow growl...

ooo

The candlelight massaged his naked flesh, giving it a slightly ethereal quality that captivated her eager gaze. Her right hand hung uselessly in its cold metal confine, bruised, bloodied and utterly ignored. His own fingers ran circles over her milky pale flesh, as though he too found her as fascinating as she found him.

Of course, she knew this was unlikely to be the case.

His caresses were those of a skilled lover, one that had bedded hundreds, if not thousands of human women in the millennia he had lived. This epiphany made her doubt his previous statement, that Wraith rarely found comfort in sexual endeavours. However, lie or not, Marie found herself unable to care. Only months into the expedition, she found herself bedding the first alien male she had encountered. Her actions had been, up to this point, foolish and dangerous, yet now – hypnotised by his alien beauty, she was entirely devoid of regret.

"What are you thinking of, Worshipper?"

Her lips curled at this title, yet she answered calmly. "Only that I think you have been lying to me, about the sexual lives of Wraith."

His hand rested on her breast, his feeding slit peculiar against her tender flesh. "And this concerns you?"

"Not particularly. I just wonder why you thought it necessary to lie to me."

"You are a Worshipper, I have no need to explain things to you."

"Masochistic twat," she snarled. "Now can you please undo these damned shackles?" She rattled her hands in the restraints, as though simply to make a point.

"I think not."

ooo

Rodney McKay's fingers lingered upon the well worn keyboard, his dark eyes darting over the screeds of information that flashed upon the screen. Elizabeth hovered behind him, her posture screaming anxiety. Aiden Ford lurked a metre away, by the snap-locked door to the brig, sheepishly trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

McKay turned his intent gaze to the young lieutenant. "When did the door close?"

"I told you, an hour ago," Ford replied, voice laced with guilt-ridden anxiety. "I told her I would open it in five minutes."

John Sheppard tapped on the door. "We haven't heard any screaming, that's a good sign."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Soundproof doors. They could be playing death metal in there and we wouldn't hear it. This should do it..." He tapped the enter key on his keyboard with a small flourish, his smug smirk quickly dissipating as the cables jammed into the door consol burnt out, filling their nostrils with the acrid scent of smouldering gadgets.

John coughed. "I take it that's not a good sign?"

"That is _not_ good," the scientist concluded. "_Really_ not good."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, lips morphing into an anxious frown. "What's happening, Rodney?"

The scientist started to mumble, his fingers clicking manically in indication that he was close to cracking it. Finally, he discarded his laptop for one of the slimline electronic pads favoured by the science teams. Pulling up a schematic of Atlantis, his flashed it at the small gathering of scientists and marines.

"At first I thought that this was just a fault. Atlantis has been under water for tens of thousands of years and systems are still glitchy. However, this is not a glitch. It's a security procedure... only I don't understand exactly how –"

This time it was John who responded. "A security procedure?"

"If for any reason the force-field to the cell fails, the doors close permanently so as to stop any dangerous prisoners escaping. The only thing I don't understand is _how_ the field has failed."

"A glitch?" suggested John.

"Impossible. This thing has more security measures than the SGC. The only way it could fail is if some of the crystals have been pulled from the control panel. That control panel is location outside of the cell."

Elizabeth took the pad from Rodney, her gaze falling on the small red dot that indicated the location of the force-field control panel. "So you're saying someone in Atlantis is trying to free the prisoner?"

"That's the weird thing," McKay explained. "If someone wanted to free him, they could just open the cell in the brig. It's like someone purposely wanted to trap Marie in the brig _with_ him. I suggest we go and check out this consol."

Elizabeth nodded. "I agree."

John followed the scientist and team leader down the corridor toward the lab, his P-90 poised at the ready. "I really hate to think of what he's doing to her in there."


	6. 6 A Dented Book

The second last chapter of this strangely plotless tale is here! There is no smut here, just as there will be none in the next chapter. The next chapter will drive me into the writing of Riddles in the Dark, which is actually going to be set a few years later, starring Marie, Steve and Todd. Once again I deliver much later than I promised, and for this I apologise. I only have 20 days left until my thesis is due, so to say I'm stressed is mildly an understatement.

Once again, I do not have a beta reader so if there are any mistakes, I apologise.

**A dented book**

They say that history can be a dangerous tool in the arsenal of any politician, but as Rodney McKay discovered the moment they entered the decimated lab, it could also be a deadly weapon in the hands of a marine. The consol responsible for maintaining the force field was wrenched open, the small community of crystals dwelling within, pulverised. Scot Matherson lay unconscious beside the carnage, stark naked, his blood-smeared fingers resting on a battered copy of _The Cambridge Urban History of Britain_. Picking his jaw up from the floor, McKay pried the giant tome from the marine. Sharp wedges of crystal were lodged in the cover.

While McKay remained in a shock induced comatose state, John and Ford lifted the naked marine from his peculiar bed, forcing him onto a nearby chair. A mumbled cry escaped his lips, but his eyes failed to open, well that was until John whacked him in the face.

"Whhaaaa? Where am I?" Matherson's pale eyes shot around the lab, confusion written in their depths. His fingers stroked the red welt where John's fist had collided with pale skin. "What am I doing here?"

"I thought maybe you could tell us that," John sneered.

"I was sleeping, I - !"

"And you thought you might pop down to the lab for a bit of late night carnage?"

The marine looked on verge of tears. "I don't even know where I am, sir." His eyes turned to the small pile of shattered crystals and the dented book in McKay's hands. "Did I do that?"

"Well, no," snapped McKay sarcastically, waving about the book. "It seems Peter Clark did that, you just helped him along a bit!"

If Matherson had looked terrified before, it was nothing like what he was feeling as he saw the damage done to the book. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Marie is going to kill me." He grabbed the book from McKay's hands, brushing through the pages, face becoming paler as he noticed that the shard of crystal pierced the first hundred pages.

John frowned. "That's if there's anything left of her."

"What do you-?"

"You're midnight adventure has resulted in the brig shutting down," McKay interrupted, his shock dissipating. Zalenka and a band of other scientists huddled back, waiting for the head scientist to start barking out orders. "Marie and the Wraith have been stuck in there with no force field for the past hour and a half."

"Oh."

John raised an eyebrow. "What exactly happened, Scot?"

Matherson placed the book over his exposed genitals, shivering with a mixture of cold and fear. "I went to bed, as I said. The next thing I remember is you punching me in the face. I can't remember doing any of this."

"You spend a lot of time with the Wraith, don't you?"

"I'm part of the day guard, sir. I see him every day. But I have never spoken to him. He, well, he kinda creeps me out."

John contemplated the situation, fingers running through his unnaturally spiky hair. "Can you fix it Rodney?"

The scientist shot him a venomous glare. "No, I can't fix it. I'm not a genie, I can't just click my fingers and-"

"Can you bypass it?"

"Well yes, but it's going to take time."

"How much time?"

"Time."

OoOoOoO

Marie had imagined Steve to be many things: cruel vicious monster, a formidable warrior, a killer chess player. But never in her wildest dreams (even those invaded by the persistent prisoner) had she imagined him to be such a Casanova. One and a half hours into their dalliances in the dark, she found herself exhausted and ecstatic. The parts of her body usually covered with clothing were scarred by his teeth, just as her own dull teeth had left their mark on him. Every muscle ached blissfully, every inch of her skin rang with his touch.

"You would make a terrible worshipper, Marie Cromwell."

This comment dragged her from her blissful musing. She lifted her head from his chest, which she had been using as a strangely comfortable pillow, to glance into his amber eyes. "Ouch Steve, was I really that bad?"

"Anything but," his fingers curled in her sea of obsidian hair. "The Wraith usually prefer our bed partners to be less than willing."

"So you prefer rape?" Her eyebrow rose, her lips slightly curled in disgust.

Steve shrugged. "We do not refer to it as that."

"And what about when they are willing, like me?"

He smiled, a creepy smile that sent a chill down her spine. "Then they grow dull."

In a second she drew away, pressing her body against the far wall. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you, Steve."

He chuckled. "You never did, Marie." In an elegant pounce he was on his feet, stalking toward her, a predator seeking his prey. "You have nothing to worry about; I still have no intention of feeding on you."

"But-"

"You forget you have a very powerful weapon, Marie."

"Oh yes," she drawled sarcastically. "My ever wonderful smell! Forgive me if that doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I'm stuck in a cell with a hungry Wraith, and you expect me to feel comforted that my _smell_ will hold you back."

"I have no intention of _holding back_, Marie Cromwell."

The moment his lips brushed against her neck, Marie knew she was once again lost to another bought of Wraith-brought lust. He was dragging her back to their makeshift bed when...

"They have found us."

Steve pulled away, his desire dissipating as quickly as it had risen.

"What do you mean they have found us?"

"Scot Matherson has been located."

"What the hell does Scot have to do with this?" she snapped; her own desire less that easy to eradicate. She caught the random scraps of clothing Steve threw at her, slipping them on haphazardly. "Steve?"

"My plan is inconsequential. Needless to say, our moment of pleasure is over."

"This is because I grow dull, isn't it?"

Steve shrugged on his shirt, growling as he did so. "Must you insist, like all humans of your sex, on being so needy?"

"Chauvinist, pretentious, arrogant-" her stream of insults was cut short as he kissed her, fast, passionate and very final. "Chain me to the cell," he snapped. "They will think you managed to subdue me, though how that is possible..."

Her lip curled. "Shut up, Steve."

OoOoOoO

"Done!"

It took Rodney ten minutes, the collective nerves of his entire science team, three laptop computers and a small water tank of coffee to bypass the force field conduit. Matherson, still naked, only now cuffed to the chair smiled nervously. John and Ford sprinted from the room, closely followed by Elizabeth, Teyla and McKay.

The door to the brig opened swiftly, and the Lanteans were greeted with the heady scent of burned candle wax, sweat and something else, something alien. The prisoner was shackled awkwardly to the thick bars of the cell, his jacket in a puddle on the floor, his pale green-toned skin bruised. Marie, sat nearby, the pistol Ford had provided her with resting comfortably in her hand.

"Marie! Thank God you're okay!" Elizabeth swiftly hugged the historian in a most uncharacteristic gesture. The drawn looks on all their faces showed the stress they had been under. Marie felt a squirm of guilt.

"What is that smell?" Rodney exclaimed, face creased in disgust. "And what the hell is _this_?" With thumb and forefinger poised, he lifted a shift of black material. Material which slowly showed itself to be underwear. Uttering a short scream of horror, the scientist dropped it. "Please do not tell me that I just held his... _underwear_."

Steve smirked menacingly from within the cell.

"Why is his underwear even here?"

The five Lanteans sent Marie a quizzical and slightly suspicious look. She shrugged, clad the usual darkness of the room hid her blush. "He went completely mad, started stripping off all his clothes. I had to point the gun at his head to make him stop."

_Thankyou, Marie, for shattering any sense of dignity I have left_.

His venom in his mental probe caused her to smirk. _What else was I going to say, Steve? That you and I just had an hour and a half of hot sex before you called me whingy and dull_?


	7. 7 Undisclosed Desires

**7. Undisclosed Desires**

_I want to reconcile the violence in your heart_

_I want to recognize your beauty is not just a mask,_

_I want to exorcise the demons from your past,_

_I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart._

"Undisclosed Desires" - Muse

Sleep, her mother used to say, was the final frontier. Its mysteries plagued humankind, troubling them as much as the depths of space or the unexplored fathoms of the deep sea. As a child, Marie had held onto the ridiculously naive notion that her mind was a private haven, somewhere her dreams could dwell in peace, without the nagging touch of another. The night after her dalliances with Steve in the brig, Marie yearned for a return to this naivety. In a futile attempt to wash him away, she had scrubbed her skin raw in the shower, dousing it in overpriced shower cream. It did not matter how hard she soaped, how vigorously her shampoo doused finger tips attacked her scalp, she should not brush him from her. His fingers, long absent, still ran their way over her now slick skin, his tongue continued its dangerous work in her mouth, the blissful sensation of him moving deep within her still haunted every waking thought.

Now, as she lay in bed, tired eyelids threatening to close, she knew he would invade her dreams.

She was right.

Her eyes opened to find an alien landscape; the inside of what she could only assume was a hive ship. An eerie mist danced around her ankles, creeping like ghostly fingers up the legs of her flannelette pyjamas. Her arms automatically crossed across her chest, in a futile attempt to warm and protect. It was a movement that caused her captor to chuckle.

"Leave me alone."

The Wraith stepped from the shadows, clad only in stern black pants. She could not dredge her eyes from his chest, though she had spent over an hour stroking it the day before. Leanly muscled, he had a line of almost tribal tattoos that caressed his shoulder, travelling to his naval. They danced upon his back, twining their way down his spine ridges to end with a flourish at the base. She yearned to touch them again now.

"I seriously doubt you want me to, Marie Cromwell."

"You're _seriously_ wrong then," she snapped stupidly, wishing she had something a touch more articulate to say. Danger flashed in the Wraith's eyes, but she ignored it, her own anger bubbling over. "What were you playing at, leaving your pants outside the cell? Did you want to get yourself killed?"

"Concern for my welfare? How touching."

"Don't patronise me, Wraith. I have to live with these people! I don't want them to think I'm some kind of whore that sleeps with the first alien male I've met!"

His head tilted. "Is that not exactly what you are?"

Her hand steered back to slap him, but his fingers curled around her wrist. "There is little point, Marie. This is not real."

Wrenching her wrist from his grasp, she stormed away. "It still would have hurt!"

Her feet ached with the cold of the hive floor and she dutifully wished she had had enough initiative to wear socks to bed. The air was pungent with the peculiar combination damp earth, leather, death and sex.

"Where do you think to hide, Marie? This is your mind."

"Then my mind is a pretty fucked up place," she fumed back, not turning to face her pursuer. "Haven't you had enough of me?"

"If I had, why would I be here now?" Strong arms snaked around her tense body, bringing her brisk gait to a halt. He drew her around in his embrace, so that her face rested pitifully against his bare chest. "Why do you struggle?"

"Oh, I wonder?" she stabbed sarcastically. "Perhaps it has something to do with my career being on the line. Not to mention being called whingy and dull by a slimy green alien who wants nothing more than to suck the life out of me!"

Had Steve been in possession of eyebrows, he would have raised them at this comment. "You have the irritating tendency to jump to the wrong conclusions. I never called you whingy and dull."

"You insinuated it."

Steve's deep amber eyes absorbed her sleep-ridden image. Why he had once again invaded her dreams was a mystery even to him. At first, he had thought their coupling in the cell would expel her from his system, but now he found himself drawn even closer to her.

It severely annoyed him.

"If you cared so much for your career and friends, why did you visit me this morning, knowing full well my intentions?"

The human female shrugged against his form, fruitlessly trying to escape his grasp. She was a peculiar creature, even for a human female. A demon in bed, she still managed to maintain a stigma of innocence which intrigued him and aroused him further. The physical evidence of his arousal merely caused the weak little creature to struggle harder against him.

Cupping her chin in his hand, she drew her eyes up to meet his. "Speak, human."

Defiance curled her lip. "It was a mistake, one I do not wish to repeat."

"And let you allow me easy access into your dreams?"

"I hardly have any choice, do I?"

He smiled, only making her defiant sneer harder. "I can teach you." His voice lowered to a mere whisper. "Though your mind is inferior to my own, it is not unheard of for a Wraith to teach his Worshipper the art of blocking the mind."

"I do not worship you."

"What do you call our rendezvous in the cell?"

"Sex, good sex, but sex none the less."

"We shall see."

oOoOo

Before Marie could embark on more useless struggling, Steve thrust her against a nearby wall. The surface of the bulkhead was strangely warm, and thrummed as though it possessed a life of its own. Against her nightwear clad back, the wall felt like a firm leather couch.

Finger guards angrily tore at her flannelette pyjamas, until all that remained of them was a piled of pink and green confetti strewn across the floor. Sharp teeth followed the path they had bit earlier that day, drawing tiny glimmering drops of blood from her skin. She yelped in pain, only to groan as his tongue brushed over the new wounds. The razor sharp metal of his finger guards, having destroyed her clothing, now cut deep into the tender flesh of her thighs, drawing her legs tightly around his leather clad pants. His erection was freed from its confines with a delicate hiss of his fly, thrusting within her without warning. Unlike their first embrace, this was animalistic, his thrusts hard and relentless. Tears dripped down her cheeks, both in pleasure and in pain, mingling with blood as his teeth scarred her jaw.

Growling loudly, he pulled her from the wall, throwing her to the ground and him atop of her. The thrusts increased in tempo as he drove her into the misty softness of the hive floor. He came loudly, leaving her unresolved, yet caring not.

"You are mine, Marie Cromwell, remember that."


	8. 8 Death is only the Beginning

**Ah, so here it is - the final chapter of Undisclosed Desires. I apologise for the long wait. My new job as a tour guide (and ghost tour guide) at Port Arthur historic site has literally been sucking the life out of me! (I love this job, but it's not easy by any stretch of the imagination. Dealing with the public is so tiring!). A ridiculous infatuation with one of my colleagues certainly did not help with my creativity. But finally it is done. This is the last chapter of this story, but you will note that it has a bit of an open ending. This is because there is a sequel in the works. :) **

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own Steve or anything related to the SGA franchise... I do, however, own Marie. If there are any spelling or grammatical errors (I have no doubt there are some), it is entirely my fault. I do not have a beta reader, and sometimes it can be difficult to sus out mistakes in your own work.

**Chapter 8: Death is only the beginning**

"Hi Steve."

The Wraith felt his skin crawl, a tremor of irritation coursing through his body. Every time he managed to combat the hunger and plunge into a meditative state, Major Sheppard would enter. It was as though the Lanteans knew the torture they put him through. In fact, Steve suspected that this was the case.

"More samples?" Steve failed to keep the resentment from his voice. Its existence brought an air of smugness to Sheppard's reply.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a field trip: you want sustenance, I want information."

"You are incapable of offering such a trade."

"You tell me something of value, I let you eat. That's the deal; take it or leave it."

"Very well."

The moment the words parted his lips, Steve knew it was a trap. Despite considering the human race as a form of sustenance, Steve's relationship with his worshippers had, at times, given him some insight into their nature. There was no way that they would sacrifice one of their own kind. His gaze settled on the two or three marines littered around the cell. Their scent sent his body reeling with hunger. Trap or not, any fate was better than a lifetime rotting away in this cell.

oOoOo

"Why didn't anyone tell me about this?"

The historian's eyes were alight with fury. Though she was clad in flannelette pyjamas, her bed-messed hair and height made her a daunting prospect. Elizabeth Weir, however, had encountered creatures far more terrifying.

"Because we knew how you would react."

"It is immoral!"

"Compared to what the Wraith have planned for us, it is hardly immoral, Marie."

"Steve is…"

"Different?" Elizabeth's eyebrow shot into her hairline. "He is a Wraith, Marie. You have been compromised, that is why we did not tell you."

"Compromised? He is my work! Without him-"

"You have learned nothing of great importance from the Wraith." Aware that the door was open, and there were several people lingering outside, Elizabeth dropped her tone. "You have been compromised," she repeated. "The Wraith play around with our minds, Marie. Do not think you are the first he has done this too. What happens to the Wraith is my prerogative. It is likely that he will not die of this Hoffan inoculation, and will return to Atlantis. If he does die, it is equally as likely that we will have other Wraith in that cell at some stage."

"I just wish you had told me."

"Considering what happened to you in the brig, I am surprised you are reacting like this Marie. I thought you despised the Wraith."

"I do," the historian replied, her voice tainted with unease. "I guess I just find him interesting."

oOoOo

Marie ate lunch alone that day, perched on the end of a table in the mess hall, attempting to ignore the curious stares of her colleagues. It was not until a marine sat next to her, his mouth quirked in a curious smirk that she was roused from her Steve related miasma.

"Rumour has it that more happened in the brig than you're telling us."

Marie cocked her eyebrow. "Getting straight to the point, Matt. I respect that."

"So what happened in the cell?"

"Very little, as I told you. It was dark, I had a gun, the Wraith went psycho and started removing his clothes."

"And the smell?"

"Probably Steve. He hasn't had a bath in weeks."

The marine glanced at his group of mates, eyes glistening. "You see, we think something _else_ went on in that cell. Something you won't tell us."

"There are a lot of things I don't tell you Matt."

"Just tell me the truth. Did you and the Wraith-" the marine finished his sentence with a thoroughly unimaginative gesture.

"If I say yes, what exactly do you win?" Marie replied in a bored tone, her eyes following his toward the group of grinning marines.

"Everyone's blue jello for a week."

"And if you lose?"

"I clean everyone's bathrooms for a week."

_He must really love blue jello, _Marie sniggered to herself. She pulled out her chair, smiling at the marine. "Looks like you'd better put on your rubber gloves then, Matt. You have a lot of cleaning to do."

With that, she turned on her heel, heading from the mess hall with as much dignity as she could muster. As the doors hissed shut behind her, she heard _him_.

_That was a lie, Marie_.

_Fuck off Steve_.

_Articulate parting words, human_. She could almost feel his smile. _It is likely we will never meet again_.

_All for the best_.

_I have a plan, but you will have to come with us_.

She snorted, aware that the gesture would have seemed peculiar to anyone passing by. _I'm not hugely fond of your plans, Steve._

_Do you wish for me to die?_

Marie thought on this for a moment. _No_.

oOoOo

Steve observed the weak human male before him with disgust. The creature was ill, and had Steve actually intended to feed from his frail body, he would have obtained little sustenance. His eyes flashed away from the man for a second, meeting _her_ gaze through the bars. She was at the back of the small gathering that flocked within the Hoffan brig.

He flexed his long fingers, his feeding slit yearning to suck the life from this pathetic wretch. Yet, he knew he must not. Though weakness would continue to riddle his own body, he must not feed from this human.

The prey gasped a little as Steve clamped his hand upon his chest, feigning the feeding process, allowing enough incision to draw blood. The small amount of life that trickled into him was tainted, and he knew instantly that should he maintain contact, this taint would destroy him.

He pulled away suddenly. His plan had begun.

oOoOo

Steve waited patiently upon the autopsy table. He had been tempted to reveal that life still ran through his body on several occasions. The first was when that human, Carson Beckett, had cut the clothes from his body. He was not ashamed by his nudity, in fact, he knew he looked quite splendid devoid of clothing. This did not alter the fact that he was fond of his clothes. After all, he had worn them for many millennia. Every scratch and tear had been mended by the loving hands of his various worshippers.

The second moment of temptation was during the initial scan.

Now, as the wily Scot held a scalpel above his skin, Steve wished for some kind of interjection. More especially, the interjection of the young historian.

"Carson?"

Beckett pulled away, scalpel still poised in his grasp.

"Marie! I did not expect to see you here. Especially not after the-"

"In the past," the historian shrugged, allowing a light smile to brush her lips. "…before you do your autopsy, may I have a little time alone with him?"

Beckett's face darkened. "Technically I'm not meant to…"

"He's dead. He can hardly compromise me any further."

"I guess," Beckett nodded. "Three minutes. That is all."

The pads of footfalls filled the air, as Beckett left. Soon, the only thing Steve could smell within the room was disinfectant and _her_.

She knelt beside him, as his eyes fluttered open. "You are a good actor, Steve."

Sitting up, Steve looked into her storm grey eyes once again, "Forgive me."

Before contemplation could hit, his feeding hand was upon her chest. Her life force rushed from her like a flood. He had to bite his tongue to refrain from growling at the sheer pleasure. His other hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes the only feature that remained the same as he sucked away year after year. When she was naught but an elderly shell, hanging onto the last vestiges of life, he scooped her into his arms.

"Why?" she croaked, a single tear caressing her cheek.

"The only way we will get out of here is if I have strength, Marie." He brushed his lips against an elderly jaw. "As soon as we are through the Stargate, and I have fed again, I will return what I have taken."

Now, despite his nudity, he began to run through the eerily quiet corridors. He had taken the back way, to avoid bumping into Beckett. From previous experience of this world, he knew the gate to be positioned within the woods south of the city. He merely had to get there without being seen.

Her energy kept him going long enough to tap in the code and take both of them through the icy cold lake of the Stargate. Weakness started creeping back into his system, the hunger that had plagued him these past few weeks returning with gusto. The shell of the woman he carried was light as a feather, her eyes occasionally fluttering shut.

"Wake up, human."

Her lip curled, eyes glazed with distrust. "You bastard, Steve."

"I said I would return it."

"Not possible," she groaned.

"I assure you, it is." He placed her gently upon alien soil. They were in another forest, not dissimilar to the one on Hoff. "Stay here. There is a human community not far from here."

"I can't go anywhere thanks to you."

He shot her a dark look. "Reserve your energy."

oOoOo

The darkness of this new world shrouded him. His predatory senses came into full force, reptilian eyes piercing through the thickness of night. His nostrils and viper pits were trained upon any smell of human.

"Oy, you!"

Steve smirked at the sound of human voices. Already, the future was playing out before him; all he had to do was play the part.

Their footfalls drew closer and closer. The distinctive odour of alcohol and urine, intermingled with the irregularity of their footfalls alerted Steve to their intoxication. It would be disgusting, but they would do.

He kept his back to them.

Their mumblings continued.

"I reckon it's a lady, Bert."

"Nah, it's a man, Smithy."

"Look at that 'air. No man 'as 'air that nice."

"Man or woman, I dun care."

They were so close now that their foul odour enveloped him. "I suggest you start caring," he hissed softly, turning sharply on his heel. The drunken pair, clutching a lantern between them, started to yell as contemplation hit.

"Wraith! Oh shit shit shit! Wraith!"

Rolling his eyes, Steve grabbed both by the collar, sending them to the ground. His left hand held down the ruffian named Bert, as his feeding hand clamped upon Smithy's chest. The drunkard shrieked with pain. Bert shrieked with fear, eyes wide as Steve turned upon him.

When all that remained were two slightly oozy desiccated bodies, Steve shrugged the clothes from Smithy. Though they still smelt repugnant, his first victim did not appear to have had any accidents. The clothes were ill-fitting, but they kept out the biting cold.

oOoOo

Marie had not moved, but neither had she died. Steve sprinted to her, his feeding hand poised at the ready. She barely stirred as he started syphoning the life force back into her. A groan of pleasure passed her lips as youth returned, eyes, now imbedded within a young face, opened to meet his. "What was that?"

"The Gift of Life."

"I had no idea you could do that."

"You know little of my kind."

He scooped her up again, ignoring her protests at his fetid stench.

"One can not be too picky," he retorted to her slightly vehement complaints.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I know of a place," he replied, "where you can recover. The men I fed upon had some food on them, though I fear it is as disgusting as their clothing. I will have to get you more."

"And then where?"

"My people come here often. Easy prey. We will not have to wait long."

oOoOo

Whether the Wraith walked for hours or minutes, it all seemed the same to the young historian. She clutched to the foul clothing that covered his lean, muscular form, burying her head in his long hair, which still smelt like Wraith.

"We are here."

He gently plopped her down on a rock. Feeling some life return to her legs, she shuffled into a seating position, gasping at the scene laid out before her. The brittle dawn sunlight danced upon the waters of a horseshoe bend waterfall, which fell languidly into a deep clear pond. An opening in the cliff behind the waterfall was just visible through the sparkling waves. Steve was already stripping off his dirty clothes, thrusting them into the pool before diving in himself.

Though the scene was glorious, the moment her eyes clamped upon his naked figure, she could not divert them. The clear water caressed his lithe, green limbs, making them sparkle like the waterfall. His long hair, now darkened with the wet, fell in smooth waves upon his chest. Partaking in a couple of laps (more for her benefit that his own), he rose to the shore. She continued to observe, intrigued, as he tugged some shrubs from the ground beside the pool, rubbing them against the stone until a thick foam appeared. It was this foam that he lathered into his white locks, and into the filthy pile of clothing.

"Join me, Marie." He halted his ablutions, sidling up beside her.

"I think not."

A smirk curled his lips. "Why?"

"I have just ruined my career, lost all my friends and placed my future in the hands of someone who literally sucked the life out of me. Forgive me if I'm a little apprehensive."

"As my Worshipper, you will have to do everything I say."

"So I am as much a prisoner as you were?"

His hand cupped her cheek. "That depends on how fine a Worshipper you are."

-The End-


End file.
